Facade
by Bobbie23
Summary: A missing Rollaro scene set after Padre Sandunguero


Facade

" _All facades fall sometime, then the mask comes off and the real heart is seen."  
― __Jessiqua Wittman_ _,_ _A Memoir of Mercy_

She lingered outside the brightly lit bar looking through the glass, through the patrons, some celebrating, some commiserating. She's been here for both enough to know they could be here for an entirely different reason tomorrow night. Her eyes travel through the throng of people at the bar to the far corner and land on the figure in the far booth, the one cast in the shadows.

They don't usually sit there. They prefer to sit at the bar trying to act like they have nothing to hide; almost daring others to call them on having a drink outside of work. There's a general unspoken rule of 'don't ask, don't tell' amongst cops, most of them understand the need to find a release with someone who goes through the same things you do. She and Nick aren't fooling anyone, she knows that; certainly not after their argument a few weeks ago; and definitely not the people closest to them. She thinks the only people they were fooling were themselves.

He sits alone, engaged in a staring contest with the tumbler on the table in front of him. Her eyebrow cocks in surprise. He doesn't like scotch; at least not enough to order it when he's alone. He usually only drinks it when someone else offers him a shot, just to be polite. He seems unaware of those around him, trapped in his own little world.

 _She_ should be home with Frannie instead of bundled up in her winter coat and hat with her hands stuffed in her pockets in an effort to stay warm. She's only been back in the City for a few days, not even back in the squad, hasn't even spoken to Olivia about coming back. The Sergeant wants to meet with her tomorrow. Amanda knows Olivia is going to scrutinise every nuance in her behaviour when she asks if she's ready or if she even wants to come back. She does. She can't deny thinking about leaving for good though. She hopes she's able to duck the inevitable question about therapy, because that's not for her.

Never will be.

But then, before Lewis, she never thought it was something Olivia would do either and it seemed to be working for her. She wonders what Olivia advised Nick to do after his father blew through his life.

News, gossip, of what transpired while she was away managed to reach her quickly when she ran into a detective from another unit while she was jogging this morning. Nick was taking some time, she was told. Looking through the glass she eyes his clothes as he sits huddled in the booth. Gone was the usual shirt and tie, replaced by the casual unbuttoned checked shirt with a worn tee underneath. She can't help the unbidden thought that he looks good despite how lonely he seems.

She was ready for it to be over between them. She wasn't comfortable with him knowing what she went through. She never wanted his pity. But after hearing about his father she realised it wasn't pity, only concern he showed her during those testing weeks. She cares about him and it's not based on what happens in her bed.

She's about to turn on her heel and walk away when he lifts the glass only to hold it between his thumb and forefinger contemplating it for a second before slamming it back onto the table. She should just walk away, leave things like they are.

She takes the first step only to change direction at the last moment and grab the door handle, turning it quickly before she can stop herself. He's her friend. He's been there for her during her recovery and would've been while she was dealing with Patton if she'd let him. She wants to offer him the same support.

Entering the bar she saddles up to the bartender and orders two beers. She waits idly at the bar, confident Nick hasn't seen or heard her because he hasn't looked up, having re-entered the staring contest with the glass in front of him.

The bartender places the bottles in front of her and takes her money, returning quickly with her change. She makes her way towards the booth while tucking the note and coins into the front pocket of her jeans. Amanda slides into the booth opposite Nick without asking for an invitation placing his bottle next to the tumbler. It's an apology, a peace offering, a bribe wrapped in one.

Instead of acknowledging his astonished look she unzips her jacket and takes a sip from her bottle. She itches to draw her feet onto the padded bench beneath her, like she does on the sofa at home. She wants something to shield her from him, shield him from her. She resists and meets his gaze which is suspicious, cautious, and void of its' usual inviting warmth. She doesn't know why she's here, doesn't know what to say if he asks her. He clears his throat and she holds her breath as he speaks.

"Hi," he breathes out, low and wondering. The question is there but she knows he doesn't expect her to answer. Her lips twitch into what approximates a small, quick smile and she almost leans forward invitingly but stops herself before she does.

"Hey," she says softly.

He exhales and finally rests back against the booth, his eyes drinking her in. His brown eyes look black and it feels like he's trying to stare through her. Amanda stares back trying to stay as relaxed as possible. She nudges his bottle forward and then slides the tumbler away. His lips twitch and his responding head bob is quick and slight that she almost misses it. Seconds later Nick sighs in relief and leans forward and lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a long drink.

The bottle drops to the table louder than she expects and her eyes flash and she adjusts her position against the back of the booth. His eyes soften apologetically as he rests his forearms on the edge of the table.

"Sorry," Nick says and she tilts her head to the side in acknowledgment.

"How have you been?" Amanda asked.

Nick rolls his eyes and states. "You've heard."

"Yeah I, uh," Amanda leans forward, lowering her voice. He was here in a booth by himself because he wanted privacy. She could understand that. And she hoped for his sake no one was listening. Before she can finish he waves her off.

"Don't," he says abruptly. "It's not your fault." His forcefulness worries her and she discreetly inhales. He's not drunk. The beer is probably the first drink he's had.

"I know it's not, I'm still sorry," she whispers. He doesn't want to hear it; she knows that, she didn't want to when he tried to say it to her weeks ago.

"Me too," Nick replies. He glances around the bar self-consciously before dropping to the table.

"It's not yours either."

His head lifts quickly and he pins her with a reproachful look. She holds it. She understands his frustration. "I never thought anyone…I hoped no one would find out."

"I know how that feels," she tells him softly. His jaw twitches and his eyes glint as he understands why she's here.

"Yeah," he says uncomfortably shifting forward conspiratorially. "How are you doing?"

Her eyebrow kinks and it's clear he knows exactly how she's feeling. It's why he's jumped at the chance to turn the focus onto her. She'll allow it for now because if she pushes anymore he's likely to clam up. She'd do the same if she was him. "Like I want to put it all behind me," she mutters. He nods thoughtfully.

"And the retreat worked?" Nick questions.

Amanda pauses. It didn't, not really. She's not having nightmares or fighting the urge to cry every minute anymore. It was peaceful and it was like stepping out of reality for a few days. Like New York had been when she first arrived. Now it was tainted with the memories she was trying to escape.

"While I was there," Amanda replies and quickly looks away as she takes a gulp of her beer. It would have been easy to lie and to tell him she was all better. She wasn't. She's still hyper aware of people around her, always ready to sidestep when someone gets too close and fights with everything she has in her not to flinch when someone does touch her even by accident. Nick nods again. He doesn't ask anything else and she's grateful. "What about you?"

Nick lifts a hand and gestures at the bar. "This is my retreat." He forces a fake smile and her heart thumps.

"And when you go home?"

"I don't want to go home," Nick grmubles honestly. He sounds so innocent and small and she wants to make it all better for him. She can't, no more than he could for her.

"So you're hiding," Amanda surmises. She's not judging.

Nick bobs his head and raises the bottle to his lips. She cocks an eyebrow and contemplates him as she lifts her own bottle to her mouth and takes a long drink. She swallows the beer and looks around the bar before finishing the rest. Replacing the bottle on the table she sees Nick has finished his own and is looking back at her.

She shouldn't offer. They should stay here because it's safer. She doesn't want him to assume there's more to it this than an ear to listen. She speaks anyway. "Do you want to hide someplace else for a while?"

…

"I don't get how my memory is so different from theirs," he explains as they settle onto her sofa.

The words started flowing easier than she expected when they arrived at her apartment. Usually they'd be half way to her bedroom by now, their clothes scattered over the floor. Neither of them needs that right now. He's explained what happened with his father, his family, filled in the blanks. He's been through hell.

She sits in one corner, one leg curled beneath her, leaving a gap between them. Frannie clambers up into it. All of her attention is on Nick, trying to lick his face as he squirms out of her way as she happily wags her tail. Amanda smiles and lovingly pats the dogs' behind and telling her to lie down, which she does but only after Nick laughs and scratches behind her ear. Amanda smiles as Frannie lays her head over his thigh and he absentmindedly strokes her. Frannie never fails to comfort her when she feels the pressures of the job weighing her down.

"I don't think it is, people see what they want to see," Amanda tells him. She thinks about telling him the advice they give to victims. It is easy to encourage someone to move forward but putting it into practice is never that easy. There are always going to be those days when the memories get to you, when something happens to set off a flashback, when a nightmare is too much to bear. She says nothing because Nick knows it's not that simple and that advice will be of little comfort to him where his head is.

"I don't want anyone thinking I'm doing this because of him."

"I don't," Amanda assures him. "Liv and Fin don't either."

"But everyone else is going to think that I am."

"They are," Amanda agrees with a nod. Her honesty doesn't surprise either of them. She's never had a problem with saying things others are too uncomfortable to say. There'll always be a reminder; the room going quiet when you enter, someone looking at you for a second too long, someone doubting your motive for a decision. It's not people knowing, it's the judgement and perception that goes with that. She knows the how the rumour mill goes. It's taken her years to shake the rumours that followed her from Atlanta and recent events have forced her to confront what she's been hiding from since she left.

"Do you think I wanted anyone to find out? Or Liv wanted anyone to know about what happened with Lewis?" Amanda asks when Nick doesn't respond.

Something unreadable flitters across his face and she looks at him. It takes her a moment to recognise the regret, the guilt and she realises at some point Olivia bared the brunt of Nick's temper, and knowing Nick he hasn't apologised yet. She shakes her head and annoyance flares at the annoyingly proud man in front of her. It's hypocritical, she knows that. She's said and thought a lot of things to and about the Sergeant, and she's not proud of it.

"What?" Amanda asks unable to stop herself. She has this sudden need to know what he's said.

Nick looks ashamed as he shakes his head and admits. "I asked her if she'd ever forgiven her father or Lewis."

Amanda prickles and sits up straighter as she lets out a low whistle. Her heart aches for him. "She won't hold it against you," Amanda offers.

"Doesn't make it right though," Nick argues and Amanda shakes her head.

"No, it doesn't," Amanda admits. She wants to change the subject; she doesn't want to think about her own experience of exchanging barbs with Olivia. "So how much time are you taking?"

"I'll be back next week," Nick says. "What about you?"

Amanda shifts against the arm, scooting away as far as she can. Nick spots it but doesn't mention it. "I'm meeting with her tomorrow to talk about it."

"You're going back?" Nick questions and Amanda frowns in response narrowing her eyes at him.

"I didn't choose Special Victims because of Patton," she exerts. "He's not going to take it away." It's her turn to be forceful. She needs to do this job.

He stares at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He's assessing her and she stares back boldly. She hopes for the same bravery while under Olivia's scrutiny. After a long moment he nods slowly. "He's not the reason you're doing it."

He isn't. She's repeated that over and over to herself. "No, he's not." She knows her tone belies her words but Nick doesn't call her on it. "I want to get on with my life. Put it all behind me."

"So, what, we get back to normal now?" Nick questions, scepticism clear in his tone.

Amanda has no answer. She wants to say yes, but in light of the honesty they have shown each she can't bring herself to utter the word. The moment is shattered when Frannie climbs down from the sofa and sits by the door, whining quietly as she sniffs at her lead hanging from the hook. Their gazes follow her and Amanda is grateful for the interruption. She slides off of the sofa and she turns in surprise when she hears Nick rising too.

"You're leaving?"

"No, I was wondering if you wanted company," he replied.

Her eyes narrow. Maybe she's reading too much into it, maybe she wants to hear the doubt or the overly protective tone. She shakes her head. She needs a minute. "I'll be five minutes," she tells him and strides over to the front door before he can argue. "I'll be fine Nick," she assures him as she zips her coat before slipping out of the door with Frannie without giving him a chance to refute her claim.

She knows he'll be watching from the window and she won't hold it against him. He's protective. It's nothing to do with her. It's what he learnt by watching his father's mistakes. Nothing is going to change that. Just like nothing is going to change her need to prove she can do this by herself. It's not about Patton she tries to tell herself as she walks Frannie around the block while keenly looking into the shadows for anything suspicious.

She doesn't have to prove anything.

She doesn't know what to expect when she returns to her apartment. Whether Nick will be gone and they'll never speak of this night again, or he'll be there and they'll keep talking. She's not sure what scares her more.

He stayed. But they don't talk.

Instead they fall back on their tried and tested method when it comes to dealing with the state of their lives.

Merely minutes after walking through the door he's pressing her against her bedroom door sucking her bottom lip between his. She hooks an arm around his neck and moans appreciatively. She blindly grabs for the handle and turns it, stumbling as the door falls open but Nick's hands are there, holding her against him.

He doesn't hold back, she doesn't want him to. He never has before and he knows she doesn't want him to treat her differently. She doesn't want to be treated as if she'll break the minute he touches her. She pushes all thoughts of Patton and his touch out of her head as Nick lifts her shirt over her head.

She doesn't have to prove anything.

Not to anyone.

Not to him.

Just to her.


End file.
